


Do You Feel It Too?

by great_charlamagne



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Post-War, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:46:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24424483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/great_charlamagne/pseuds/great_charlamagne
Summary: The war is over, and Bellatrix has been captured. But what to do with her? Bellatrix agrees to give information on the whereabouts and weaknesses of other Death Eaters that have managed to escape capture in exchange for visits with Hermione Granger. Will she agree? And what does Bellatrix really want?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Comments: 31
Kudos: 319





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at a fan fic ever so that might explain some things. I honestly don't know what this is either. I'm sorry for the gaping plot gaps. I just wanted to play in this fandom. I hope you can enjoy some parts, at least. Comments, suggestions, criticisms, requests are all welcome and appreciated!

“We’ve got her.”

Hermione Granger has longed to hear these words, has longed for the day that Bellatrix Lestrange is once again a prisoner, held by the Order in the dungeons of Hogwarts. She hadn’t expected to enjoy hearing them more than watching Harry break the Elder Wand into two pieces before throwing them into the ruins, but she had. What she didn’t enjoy, and what she never expected, was that she would have to face the witch again.

“Me?” she’d blurted when she was told.

“Yes.” McGonagall was still standing at Dumbledore’s desk, having first made Hermione sit down, and now that she’d seen that Hermione wasn’t jumping up and leaving the room, she finally sat down herself. It was strange to see her at his desk, but it was equally difficult to imagine anybody else being better suited to be his successor.

“I know it is a lot to ask of you,” McGonagall continued, “ – and, believe me, I don’t want to ask it of you - but...”

“Then don’t.” Hermione may have argued with her professors in an academic capacity, may have even, at times, corrected them, but she never, ever talked back. 

McGonagall stared at her. Hermione glanced away, her face heating up, but she would not apologise. She would not take it back.  
“Hermione...” The younger witch looked back at her professor and saw that her face had actually softened. Her first name sounded so foreign in McGonagall’s voice, and somehow so much more serious than her last.

“Why me? Why does she want to talk to me?” Hermione asked. In a way, it was rhetorical. Because it is just another way to torture me again. She traced the slur cut into her skin. As if branding me wasn’t enough.

“She says she will only talk to you,” McGonagall clarified. “I don’t mean to press you, but we don’t have long before the ministry arrive.”

Curiosity got the better of her. “What will they do with her?”

“I think we both know.”

“Azkaban? Really?”

“What would you have them do with her? The Aurors are going to act as guards now that the Dementors cannot be trusted.” 

That was better, she supposed. More humane. She wasn’t sure if Bellatrix deserved it though. If there was any justice, Bellatrix would have been killed in battle.

“Why do you even want me to talk to her?” Hermione asked. “What do we possibly have to talk about?”

“I wouldn’t have asked you if it wasn’t important, Ms. Granger.” Hermione detected some hurt from her professor and almost felt ashamed.

No. She didn’t cut those letters into her arm. She didn’t get crucioed until she lost consciousness. No, no, no.

Hermione stood up. “I’m sorry, professor, but – ”

“Hermione,” McGonagall interrupted, leaping to her feet. “This is far more serious than you know, that I can let you know, but you know, you do, that I would never, ever put you in any danger. I understand that you’re apprehensive considering your last experience with Ms. Lestrange, but I assure you, Hermione, she cannot hurt you. All I ask is that you trust me, the way you trusted Albus. I assure you I am deserving of it or I would never ask this of you.”

The words had come out quickly, as if in a jumble, in something similar to desperation, and Hermione realized that McGonagall really wouldn’t ask this of her if there was no other choice. McGonagall was like Dumbledore in many ways, but she was not as reckless as him, even if he did the wrong things for the right reasons.

Hermione sat back down, and so did McGonagall.

“Professor,” Hermione tried again. She took a deep breath, wondering how to phrase it. “I do trust you, but you must understand this is not easy for me, and you’re asking me to decide right now.”

“Time, I’m afraid, is of the essence.”

Hermione pulled the sleeves of her jumper over her hands and clenched them into fists. “Okay,” she said. She saw McGonagall’s face slacken, her eyebrows raise, her eyes brim with hopefulness. “Okay,” Hermione repeated. “Okay.”

The dungeons were darker than Hermione remembered. McGonagall led her into a room which contained a cell housing the Death Eater. The part of the room that wasn’t a holding cell was bigger. Everything was made of stone, which made their footsteps echo. Bellatrix, who was still dressed entirely in black and bloody robes, was a small figure curled into one corner of her cell, which Hermione had not expected.

“Bellatrix,” McGonagall called. “I am not alone.”

There was no reply. Hermione wondered what they had done to her for her to be so subdued. This was not the Bellatrix Lestrange that Hermione had ever seen. She had been cautious, keeping a good distance behind her professor and away from the bars, but she had made sure to stand up straight, chin up, shoulders back, to show she was not intimidated by the dark witch even though she was. Of course she was. Most people were.

Hermione stepped forward to get a better look at the small and huddled figure. Was this really her? She could just make out one side of the witch’s face, but she had no idea which part it was until all of a sudden she saw one black eye flick open and seemingly hone in on her. Before she could jump backwards, Bellatrix had flown at the bars, bearing what was left of her rotten teeth. McGonagall put her arm out in front of Hermione while a guard drew his wand.

“Stand down,” McGonagall said to him. “Bellatrix, that isn’t a polite way to reintroduce yourself.”

Bellatrix cackled, seemingly pleased with herself that she had made Hermione jump. The crazy bitch. This had been a mistake.  
“Come now, Minnie, you used to be more fun,” Bellatrix taunted. She looked at Hermione. “Besides, she’s still a Mudblood. Did you miss me, Muddy?”

“Professor,” Hermione began. “I’m not – this isn’t – ”

But McGonagall was still looking at Bellatrix. She said, “Ms. Granger doesn’t owe you anything, Ms. Lestrange. She is here as a favour to me, not you. You have less than half an hour before the Aurors arrive to retrieve you. I suggest you get straight to the point.”

“Ah, you know that’s not my style, professor,” Bellatrix said. “I much prefer to play with my food first.”

McGonagall seemed non-plussed. “Time is running out, Bellatrix.”

“I’ll talk to the Mudblood alone.”

“No,” McGonagall and Hermione said at the same time.

Bellatrix quirked an eyebrow. “Alone or not at all.”

McGonagall turned her back on Bellatrix and took hold of Hermione’s arms. “She cannot hurt you, there are wards up everywhere and a chain around her leg.”

“No,” Hermione said. She would not be left alone with this madwoman again.

“Yes,” Bellatrix called out, “I don’t even have my wand. Come on, are you leaving me and the Mudpup or what, Minerva? I thought you were impatient to do this.”

“Time is not on your side, Bellatrix.”

“Nor yours.”

“Hermione, you are perfectly safe, I promise you.”

“Professor, you can’t be serious.”

McGonagall turned to look at Bellatrix. “Look at her,” she said. Bellatrix raised her eyebrows. “You’ll be fine, Hermione.”

“Listen to your professor, little Mudblood, and do as you’re told.”

“And you,” McGonagall said to Bellatrix, “be quiet.” She turned back to Hermione and said quietly, “I will be right outside.” Then she raised her voice for Bellatrix to hear. “Five minutes.”

“Five minutes,” Hermione repeated. Five minutes, I can do five minutes. She’s in a cell. She can’t get me.

Hermione almost thought she could really manage five minutes, but once she was truly alone with the dark witch she wasn’t so sure. Her scarred arm began to ache. She thought it was a coincidence until Bellatrix said, “Do you feel that, Muddy?”

Hermione wasn’t sure whether to answer or not.

“Time’s ticking, Lestrange,” she said instead. “You wanted to talk to me. I’m here. So talk.”

“I want you to come visit me.”

Of all the things Bellatrix could have said to her, she was not expecting that. “What?”

“Obviously, I’m being sent to Azkaban, but it won’t be the same as it was. Nobody with half a brain would allow the Dementors back. So, once a week, I want you to come visit me.”

“Why would you want me to visit you? How do you even know something like that would be possible?”

“It will be possible because if you agree, I will help your precious Order find the missing Death Eaters. Don’t you want that? To find the big, bad Death Eaters that got away?”

“As if anybody would trust anything you say.”

Bellatrix placed a hand over her chest. “Oh, you wound me, Mudblood. I’ve already proved what my word is worth actually. Now they just need you to keep up their end of the bargain. One visit, one name and their whereabouts.”

Perhaps McGonagall was more like Dumbledore after all. Hermione clenched her fists. Why hadn’t McGonagall told her before sending her in here and leaving her alone with this deranged woman? Not to mention having to see her every week. Every week for how long? There was a pretty long list of Death Eaters that had gotten away. More than Hermione dared count. She hadn’t even wanted to see Bellatrix today one last time, there was no way she was going to agree to seeing her every week for months.

“So?” Bellatrix pressed. “Going to break a girl’s heart or not?”

You’re hardly a girl, Hermione thought. It was hard for Hermione to even think of Bellatrix has a fellow human being though she did, but barely.

This was why McGonagall had agreed, of course. Self righteous Hermione. Easy target Hermione. Good girl Hermione.

It was still difficult for Hermione to believe McGonagall would throw her under a bus like this. Perhaps, like Dumbledore, there was things McGonagall was keeping from her, which made more sense. McGonagall was a good witch; Bellatrix was a bad witch. Things were that simple.

“Come on, Muddy,” Bellatrix snapped. “You should be honoured that a witch like me, the heir to the Noble and Ancient House of Black, requests the presence of you, a Mudblood. Be a good girl and tell Minerva you’ll come see me. Or no names. No information.”

Hermione stared at her. Just how conceited could someone be?

Hermione walked over to the door and called out to the guard. “We’re finished,” she said.

Bellatrix scrambled at the bars. “Don’t be stupid, muddy! Don’t disappoint your dear professor. I thought you were a good girl, brightest witch of her age! Don’t turn down a good deal for your people. You won’t be the Golden Girl for long if you do!”

It was pitiful, really. And she was going to have to put up with it every week? Maybe she could still get out of this, maybe McGonagall would understand.

“I’ll tell you how to get rid of my handiwork on your arm,” Bellatrix offered. That was tempting. The slur on her arm still stung sometimes and throbbed. It was a constant reminder of what people like Bellatrix Lestrange thought of people like her. It was always there, reminding her she was less than. In the end, though it had been painful, just as painful at the time as the crucios, it was now far, far more painful that she had realised at the time.

“That’s right,” Bellatrix said, clearly noticing Hermione’s hesitation. “How about that then? How about Bella makes the little mudpup’s hurt go away? Hmm?”

Hermione doubted that Bellatrix telling her how to remove her handiwork would make her hurt go away. There was little anyone, even muggle psychologists, could do to help heal the psychological damage Hermione had acquired from the war and Bellatrix’s torture. 

But it was still appealing. One less scar.

Hermione turned and looked at the dark witch. Bellatrix was gripping hold of the bars so hard her knuckles were turning white and she had her face pressed between the bars as far as she could. There was something satisfying about her being so panicked that Hermione wished she could drag it out a little longer, but she could hear that they soon wouldn’t be alone.

“One visit,” Hermione said finally. “And you tell me how to get rid of this.”

“Three,” Bellatrix said. 

“Then that’s it. We’re done after that.”

Bellatrix tsked. “Minnie isn’t going to like that, muddy. Big, bad Bella has lots of juicy tid-bits to help the dirty traitors.” She pouted, and Hermione was glad she didn’t have to see those rotten teeth again. “I thought you were a good girl, mudpup.”

“We’re done after that,” Hermione stressed. “You hear me, you deranged psychopath?” When Bellatrix didn’t move or respond, Hermione forgot herself. “We are done after that, Lestrange. You hear me?” she repeated, stepping closer, as if she wasn’t afraid, as if looking at the dark witch didn’t make her remember that night, the weight of Bellatrix on top of her, the searing pain of those letters being carved on her skin. But there was also something else...something...strange.

Suddenly, Hermione was being yanked forward by the dark witch’s hands on her jumper so hard that her head almost collided with the bars. Black eyes searched her hazel ones as if Bellatrix was looking directly into her mind. “You still think about it.” Bellatrix smirked. Hermione’s heart was pounding in her chest, her legs twitching to get away, adrenaline coursing through her veins, a whirring in her ears. No, no, no. “You still think about me.”

No, no, no.

Bellatrix cocked her head to the side and said, “Funny...little...mudpup.”

Hermione’s arm throbbed and her head ached. Bellatrix was trying to see into her mind. Hermione knew Bellatrix was highly skilled in legilimency – highly skilled in general, if she were honest – and that her own occulmency was merely adequate (it was hard to protect a mind that was always so furiously thinking), that Bellatrix would have been in, rifling through her head, were it not for the wards that must be placed. Why the wards weren’t powerful enough to prevent Bellatrix from manhandling her she supposed was her own fault for not keeping her distance.

“You feel it, too, don’t you, muddy?” Bellatrix breathed out. 

Before Hermione could respond, the door swung open and there stood McGonagall. “Let her go, Bellatrix. Now.” 

Bellatrix yanked Hermione closer still and then, in one quick motion, she licked Hermione’s neck before pushing her backwards. Her eyes were still on McGonagall, her smirk even more irritating that it was mere seconds before.

“See you soon, Muddy,” Bellatrix said before turning her back and basically dismissing them as if she were the one in control.

McGonagall reached out for Hermione. “Are you all right, my dear?”

Hermione pulled her scarred arm out of reach of her concerned professor. The throbbing had suddenly disappeared.

“I’m fine,” she said. “I just need to get out of here, professor.”

Out of here and away from this deranged woman, she thought, but, no, that wasn’t quite true. She didn’t want to get away from the dark witch, not really. In fact, she was, if she were honest with herself, which she rarely was, actually looking forward to seeing her again. 

What the hell, Hermione, she thought to herself. What the hell is wrong with you?

Maybe, soon, she would find out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I can't help myself, but be warned I still have little idea of where this is going lol. Thank you for your comments too :)

"I'm sorry, Hermione."

Hermione had walked back to Dumbledore's - no, McGonagall's - office on shaky legs, wiping her neck on the sleeve of her jumper. That crazy bitch had licked her neck! She felt violated all over again.

"I really don't know how that happened. She shouldn't have been able to get that close to you."

"It was my fault, professor."

"Are you really all right? I know all this is very difficult for you even without her pulling out tricks to torment you."

"She said you'd made a deal with her." Without consulting me, was left unspoken.

"It is a good deal, Hermione."

"At my expense! You want me to spend time with that...thing!"

"Hermione, I assure you, if there were another way, I would gladly take it. Bellatrix has vitally important information that will be of great value to us."

"How can you even trust her? How can you trust anything she says?"

McGonagall smiled. "She has already provided us with a name and location just for you talking with her today."

I'm a pawn, Hermione realised. But if it did result in more Death Eaters being brought to justice...well, she had survived this encounter. She was still not sure about the subsequent ones though. Bellatrix may well have only given up information this time because she so enjoyed any opportunity to cause pain and misery. That must be what she will get out of the deal - The opportunity to humiliate Hermione further. 

Why would McGonagall agree to such a thing? Why would anyone? 

Hermione's fingers grazed her scar through the sleeve of her jumper. She had her reason to agree. To the three visits only, anyway. She just wasn't sure if she could do it let alone if she should.

"I'm sorry, professor, but it is hard for me to believe a word she says. She's a murderer. She's a deranged, power hungry, sadistic psychopath!"

McGonagall's lips twitched. "A big part of her is, yes. And she has certainly killed a very many innocent people and done unforgivable things. You are quite right. But she wasn't always this way."

"You taught her when she was a student here." It was more of an statement than a question.

"Yes." McGonagall sighed. "An infuriating girl, she was. So proud, so arrogant. Ruthless and stubborn. A brilliant student, but a nightmare to have in your class. You think Mr. Malfoy was bad, Bellatrix was something else."

"So she was insufferable. Big surprise."

"Yes. But she was also the brightest witch of her age, just like you are now. And, just like her nephew, she wasn't all bad."

Hermione scoffed. "Well, she is now."

"Perhaps," McGonagall conceded. "Perhaps not. What is undeniable is that it is a great tragedy what has happened to her. It is one of my greatest regrets. Dumbledore's too. I often wonder at which point is a person irredeemable."

"I'd say she's there and then some."

"I know she was cruel to you, then and now. But she is still important while she carries that information. We need it to keep others safe. You understand that, don't you, Hermione?"

Hermione inwardly rolled her eyes. Here comes the guilt trip. But even she had to concede that McGonagall was right. She had just thought she had paid enough in this war, played her part, done her bit. She just wanted to forget. To rest. To sleep soundly. She just wanted this finished.

And now, in order to finally finish it, she had to carry on. For others who weren't so lucky. For the ones the Death Eaters had murdered and tortured into insanity. For the ones that were no longer here, for the ones that had been left behind.

Of course Hermione was going to do it.

They had both known that.

"I'll be in touch as to when your first visit will be arranged," McGonagall continued. "You return to your dormitory now. Eat, drink. You did good today. You rest now, Hermione."

If only.


	3. Chapter 3

It was the first day of classes tomorrow and all Hermione had wanted was for things to be the same as every other year for her very last at Hogwarts: to look forward to her classes and be excited at reuniting with her friends.

But Harry and Ron had decided not to return to Hogwarts this year, instead beginning their training to become Aurors for the Ministry, and, as much as she loved Ginny, it just wasn’t the same without the boys. There was also little chance of being able to get a head start on her classes when her head was just full of Bellatrix.

Well, not Bellatrix exactly, but the whole visits-in-exchange-for-information deal.

If she were honest, Hermione would admit that she did spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about Bellatrix Lestrange. Which wasn’t unusual, not really. The woman had tried to kill her, after all. Had pinned her to the floor and cut that slur into her arm. Of course she would take up some thinking space.

But Hermione couldn’t help but circle back to what McGonagall had said, that Bellatrix wasn’t always this way. Evil wasn’t born, it was made. Hermione knew that, but it was hard to apply it to someone who had tortured you. And did it even matter anyway? They were already too late. Bellatrix was made long ago.

Why then, was she so happy to essentially betray Voldemort after the fact if she had so ardently believed in his cause? Why was she doing it just to get visits with Hermione? She could understand if part of the deal had been at reducing her sentence, but that was never going to happen. Unforgivables were unforgiveable. It was in the bloody name.

Hermione’s brain kept whirring and soon it was gone midnight and she wondered if there was any point to just laying there in the dark, staring at the ceiling. Maybe she could put her brain to use, if it was so inclined. There had to be something in the library. Something that would answer some of her questions...

She woke up with a start, and felt as though she hadn’t been asleep at all. It would have been a perfect dreamless sleep if she could have sworn she hadn’t just shut her eyes for a moment instead of several hours. Normally, Hermione was the first one up, but not today. Ginny had saved her a place at their table.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Ginny said with a grin. “First day of the last year of school and you sleep in for the first time ever. You’re are all right, aren’t you?”

Hermione smiled. “I’m fine, Gin, just very, very tired.”

“That must be because of your brain,” Ginny said. “Never stops working.”

“Something like that.”

Hermione helped herself to some toast. She wasn’t hungry but perhaps the food would give her energy.

“So, what did McGonagall want with you last night?”

Ginny never missed a trick.

“Oh,” Hermione said. “Just checking in with me, you know...” If she told Ginny the truth, they’d have to talk about it, and Hermione didn’t want to have that conversation. She quickly changed the subject. “What about you? Are you all right?”

Ginny gave a small shrug. “I’m really glad you’re here with me this year.”

There had always been ghosts at Hogwarts, but they had always been ghosts to Hermione, having died long before she was even born. Now, the castle held fresh ghosts, that were actually memories rather than celestial beings. It was just as tough to be back as it was to stay away. Certain places – particularly the dining hall, their classrooms, Dumbledore’s office, the Quidditch pitch – were all painful reminders of the ones they’d lost; especially Dumbledore, Snape and Fred.

Hermione smiled back at her friend. “Me too,” she said, and she meant it.

The week passed in a blur of classes. The knot in Hermione’s gut continued to grow tighter the longer she went without hearing from McGonagall. She threw herself into her homework, as usual, and spent the rest of the time listening to Ginny talk about Harry and fielding questions about Ron, all the while she was waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop. Then, one night, it came: a note from McGonagall.

Come to my office tomorrow at 2pm.

Suddenly the knot, heavy and tight, gave way to something akin to a fluttering.

Finally, after a week of routine, it was about to happen.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione's first visit with Bellatrix.

It was remarkably similar to a Muggle prison now except for all the wards.

Bellatrix was sat a small table. She sat ram-rod straight, chin held up high, but her eyes fixed on the table in front of her, almost as if she were bored. Maybe she was. There were bars in between them, but Hermione had learned her lesson the last time, and kept her distance.

“Muddy,” Bellatrix said by way of greeting. Already Bellatrix looked healthier. Hermione supposed a week of regular meals and sleep could do wonders for a person's appearance.

Hermione scowled as she sat down. “Do you have to call me that?”

“Oh, come now, it’s a term of endearment at this point, really.”

“Yet somehow it doesn’t feel that way to me.”

Bellatrix quirked a brow. “My father called me much worse.”

“What’s worse to you than a Mudblood?”

“Hm. I suppose you do have a point there.” Bellatrix grinned wickedly and Hermione gritted her teeth. Three visits, just three visits and she would never have to see, let alone converse, with this wicked creature ever again. Bellatrix curled her lip and Hermione caught a flash of white. “You’re not going to cry, are you?”

“Your teeth,” Hermione said instead. “They fixed your teeth.”

She was surprised, really, that Bellatrix had never fixed her teeth after breaking out from Azkaban. Of course there was a war going on and perhaps that wasn’t exactly at the top of her to do list – what with all the torturing and killing she probably wanted to fit in – but still. Maybe there was no need to be vain anymore, though Hermione took that back when she saw Bellatrix positively light up at her observation and smile a wide smile to show off her new look.

“You like them?”

Hermione didn’t know how to answer that.

“They’re better,” she said finally.

“Better than if your Muggle parents had tried to fix them,” Bellatrix shot back.

Hermione’s heart rate picked up at the mention of her parents. “What do you know about my parents?”

“Dentists?” Bellatrix offered. “Barbaric profession, if you ask me.”

“Barbaric? Really?”

“They drill holes into people’s mouths. Of course it’s barbaric! I may have done worse to people, but I never had the audacity to charge them for it.”

“Speaking of,” Hermione said, putting her scarred arm on the table and gesturing.

Bellatrix shook her head. “Not on this visit, Muddy. You wouldn’t come back for our last two if I gave it all up on our first date. What do you take me for? I thought you were cleverer than that.”

“What are you getting out of this?”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“And you’re cleverer than that so don’t act stupid. It’s not a good look.” The edges of Bellatrix’s mouth quirked up and she held one hand to her chest as if she were offended. It only furthered Hermione’s fury, which was the point. “Is this just to torture me some more? Making me talk to you?”

“Is talking to me really that bad?” Bellatrix asked. “Surely better than duelling me since that wouldn’t end so well for you, pet.”

“You carved this – ” Hermione pulled her sleeve up in one fluid motion to reveal the slur – “into my arm.”

Bellatrix leaned forward. “Put it away.” It was so low it was almost a growl.

Hermione pulled her arm back and her sleeve down. “Believe me, talking to you is the last thing I want to do with you.”

Bellatrix leaned back and snorted. “I’d like to see you try. Nobody can best me in a duel.”

“Well, I would certainly try.”

Bellatrix smirked. “Hmm. I know you would. That would be fun. And I mean that, muddy. I know they call you the brightest witch of your age, which is a laugh considering you’re a Mudblood. But, I don’t know...you’re certainly not stupid.”

Hermione wasn’t surprised. “Wow, that was almost a compliment.”

“Just a shame all that talent was wasted on a Mudblood, if you ask me,” Bellatrix continued. “My dear nephew isn’t as bright as he should be, but I suppose he inherited more Malfoy than Black. You, on the other hand, what did you inherit from your muggle parents? The ability to use a drill? You have muddied blood and yet somehow you have more magical talent than a pureblood your age. What a dirty trick that is.”

“You’ve seen my blood,” Hermione reminded her. “It’s no more muddied than yours.”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree on that, muddy. You can’t buy lineage. You can’t study your way to belonging to a higher class, no matter how many hours you spend at your desk reading all those books. Think yourself lucky. You didn’t inherit all of the rest of the shit that comes along with it.”

“Oh yes, I’m so lucky, with my muddied blood and people like you that look down on me as something you’ve trodden in. Very lucky.”

“You say it as though it’s a bad thing.” That wicked grin reappeared. “I think you’d quite like to be under my heel.”

“Excuse me?”

Bellatrix’s voice was low, almost husky. “I remember you squirming underneath me that night.” Immediately, Hermione is back on the cold hard floor of Malfoy Manor. She can feel the weight of the dark witch on her, pressing down on her, as if it were happening to her right now. But there was another sensation, a pull, a tugging, not unpleasant, somewhere low in her belly which she always ignored. She could feel it now, especially when Bellatrix said, “I think you rather liked it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Hermione couldn’t believe her ears. This woman was completely and utterly insane. “You tortured me!”

Bellatrix shrugged. “Sometimes torture is fun.”

“Only if you’re a psychopath like you!”

Bellatrix tsked. “Now who is throwing names around? Don’t try to deny it, muddy. I could feel it. Underneath all your delicious fear, it was there. That little part of you, thrilled to be between my thighs. Disgusting, really. But very amusing.”

Hermione didn’t know what to say. That wasn’t true. Not at all. All she had felt that night was fear. She was underneath a well known sadistic psychopath wielding both a wand and a knife. It had been the worst night of her life. Could she appreciate how physically strong Bellatrix was? How easily she had trapped Hermione between her legs? Yes. And was the weight of her warm and, in any other circumstance, would it have been comforting and...well, nice? Well...yes.

But she couldn’t tell anyone that. And she certainly couldn’t admit that to Bellatrix. Not when she would twist it into something it absolutely wasn’t.

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” she finally said.

“Sure you don’t, muddy. Sure you don’t.”

Oh, Bellatrix was loving this. Of course she was.

“You’re sick, you know that?” Hermione said. 

“I’m the sick one?”

“Yes. You are. You’re sick and vile and deranged.”

“You seem to know an awful lot about me, muddy.”

That was the thing – Hermione actually didn’t know much about Bellatrix aside from what she was notorious for, that she had been Sirius’ cousin and his murderer, that Narcissa was her sister, Draco her nephew. And that McGonagall had taught her when she had been a student herself. Other than that, Hermione knew very little. But that was not to say that she didn’t want to know more. There were nights when Hermione was haunted by Bellatrix. She’d stopped herself so many times from researching all she could about her because where would that get her? 

“I don’t, actually. I don’t want to, either,” she lied.

“Well, maybe you would learn something, if you did. I’m rather interesting.” Hermione scoffed and Bellatrix said, “I’m certainly not boring, muddy. Which is something you do know first hand.”

“I know all I need to about you,” Hermione retorted.

“I doubt that very much.”

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. “Why...why do you know about my parents and that they’re dentists?”

“I know lots of things about you. I daresay I know things about you that even you don’t know.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. I was just surprised that you knew about something as muggle as being a dentist. Seems a rather strange thing for a pureblooded witch to know so much about.”

“I don’t know *that* much about it,” Bellatrix hastened to make clear. “It’s hardly *interesting*, it was just necessary.”

So she had done the right thing by Oblivating her parents. That, oddly, made Hermione feel better. She had protected them, at least.

“After all,” Bellatrix continued, “know thy enemy.”

“Oh,” Hermione said casually, “I thought you just secretly harboured a fascination for Muggles.”

She was pleased at Bellatrix’s indignation. “Now who is being ridiculous!”

“Well, they are like forbidden fruit to you, aren’t they?” 

Bellatrix gaped at her like a fish. Hermione was enjoying this, the way her voice had gone up an octave. Turnabout was fair play, after all. At least, Hermione was enjoying it until Bellatrix suddenly seemed to come to her senses.

Haughtily, she said, “If I were you, I wouldn’t be teasing anyone about forbidden fruit, little mudpup.”

Despite herself, Hermione felt herself flush. What she was implying was not true, absolutely not, but it made her flush nevertheless. She tried to turn it back around onto Bellatrix. “Oh, so now you’re back to being ridiculous. I wonder if really you’re the one trying to hide something.”

Bellatrix seemed to have had enough of this now. Or something had gotten uncomfortably close to the truth. She leaned forward. “Don’t test me, Mudblood,” Bellatrix snarled. “You’re beginning to get on my last nerve now.”

Hermione felt brave now. Braver than she ever had before. She said, “Oh, well, I wouldn’t want to do that now, would I? What are you going to do to me from your cage?”

Hermione regretted her bravery the moment she saw Bellatrix smirk. Her arm – the one with the slur carved into it – began to burn. Hermione gasped at the sudden pain. Abruptly, she pushed her chair back and stood up, cradling her arm.

“I warned you, pet,” were Bellatrix’s last words to her before she left.

Before and after her visits with Bellatrix, Hermione was to check in with McGonagall, who had had her own meeting with the dark witch before each of Hermione’s in which Bellatrix handed over information for the Order. Standing in Dumbledore’s – no, McGonagall’s – office, her arm no longer burned. She pulled the sleeves of her sweatshirt over her hands, reporting nothing of note to her professor, who simply quirked her brow and dismissed her with both a thanks and another apology that Hermione had to do this.

It was Saturday and Hermione had the rest of the afternoon to do as she pleased until she was due at the Burrow for a meal with the Weasleys. Like most Saturday afternoons she had spent at Hogwarts, she headed straight for the library. She had some research to do.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner at the Burrow.

The Burrow smelled of home, just like Hogwarts did and yet something inside of Hermione tightened. It had happened before she had even seen George – George, by himself, lingering at the bottom of the stairs, missing a whole half – but she convinced herself that’s what it was as Mrs. Weasley pulled her in for a hug, squeezing her close in her surprisingly strong arms. Her smile at seeing Hermione was so sincere, it made Hermione’s heart hurt a little.

“It’s so good to see you, dear,” Molly said into her ear. George gave her an awkward wave from across the room and a half-smile. She responded in kind. Beside her, Ginny rolled her eyes and said, “Mum, I’m right here,” and Molly good naturedly flicked her tea towel at her youngest before pulling her in for a hug too.

Hermione couldn’t deny that it was good to be there surrounded by her surrogate family but she was also filled with a yearning for her own parents which made being there bittersweet. Then her eyes flicked over to George again, now standing near the fireplace, and she felt a sharp pang of guilt. Here she was, missing her parents, who she would one day be without as that was Nature’s Law, when George’s literal other half, that he should never have been separated from, was gone.

She felt Ginny’s hand on her arm. “You all right?”

Hermione nodded and smiled at her friend.

Molly reached out and rubbed Hermione’s arm. “Ron will be here soon. The Auror training is keeping him so busy, I’ve only had one letter from him! I daresay he’ll be pleased to see you, dear.”

Hermione gave a small nervous laugh. Everybody knew now, that the two of them had kissed that time in the Chamber of Secrets, and they’d spent most of the summer together, alone. Hermione hadn’t wanted to talk and Ron was happy to walk next to her in silence. It had been what she had needed at the time and what Ron had needed too. Consequently, they hadn’t discussed what the kiss meant, or didn’t mean, though it was clear that everyone assumed they were now a couple. Hermione thought back to when Ron was seeing Lavender and how jealous she had been. She had been sure back then, so very sure, that she wanted to be with him and now, when she quite possibly could have him, she wasn’t sure. It must have been nerves. Ron would be Hermione’s first real boyfriend and Hermione took that seriously, like she took everything else. Not to mention if it didn’t work out, would they still be able to be friends? She didn’t want to lose anyone else.

Internally, she berated herself. They hadn’t even had their first date yet and she was already worrying about a messy break-up.

Ginny bumped her hip against Hermione’s. “And Harry, too, of course,” she said, and Hermione thanked that Ginny was her friend. Hermione had a tendency to get lost inside her own head, but Ginny was always there, ready to buoy her along.

“All right, well, sit, sit down,” Molly said, ushering them toward the living room. “I’ll be right back with some drinks. I thought we’d eat outside tonight since it’s such a lovely evening, what do you think?”

“That sounds lovely, Molly,” Hermione said, settling herself down on the soft sofa with the worn out cushions that no longer held their shape and feeling herself pleasantly sinking down into it. The whole house smelled of wonderful cooking smells and the evening sun lit up the room in a warm glow. She loved the Burrow, she really did.

Ginny threw herself down on the sofa next to Hermione and George smiled. “Good to be home?”

“Classes have only started and I’m already behind,” Ginny said. She sighed deeply.

George sat down on the other sofa. “Better get yourself to the library, sis, you’re supposed to be the clever one.”

“She is,” Hermione said. “Don’t listen to her. She exaggerates.”

“More like I’m trying to keep up with you!” Ginny turned to her friend. To George, she said, “Did you know this afternoon I caught this one in the library?” and jabbed her thumb toward Hermione.

“Isn’t it Hermione’s other home?” George asked. Hermione noted he was quieter now, without Fred, but he still possessed his cheekiness. “Maybe you should have joined her.”

“You’re my brother, you’re supposed to be on my side,” Ginny said, playfully smacking George’s upper arm. “And besides, she didn’t tell me she was studying. She’s now secretly studying so she can be even further ahead than the rest of us,” Ginny added, good naturedly.

Hermione’s cheeks heated up. Of course Ginny and George were only teasing her – well known as being a bookworm, teacher’s pet, top of the class etc etc – but Ginny was uncomfortably right about her study session earlier being a secret. Hermione had gone straight to the library after checking in with McGonagall. As it was a Saturday, and the first weekend back, there was hardly anyone else there. Hermione was relatively free to search out whatever she liked though she kept the books she was searching close to her and tried to keep an eye out for anyone walking past or getting close enough to see what she was reading. First, she searched for anything she could find about scars, blood magic and the like which was a rabbit hole to fall down, taking far longer than an afternoon. Her thoughts turned to her conversation with Bellatrix.

“I know all I need to about you.”

“I doubt that very much.”

Not only had Bellatrix been a student here, she also belonged to a very famous and prominent pureblood family. There had to be lots of information about them. Families like that always left behind diligently kept records, largely an exercise in keeping up appearances. Hermione easily found Bellatrix’s birth announcement in 1951, followed by that of her two younger sisters. She wasn’t surprised to find Bellatrix’s time at Hogwarts was eventful; teenage Bellatrix had achieved a record breaking amount of Outstandings, was always top of her class, and held the record for the most points simultaneously won and taken away. Hermione remembered McGonagall telling her that Bellatrix had been the brightest witch of her age. She had to have been, regardless; she was Voldemort’s second in command and a very powerful witch. Hermione wondered how somebody who was obviously incredibly intelligent could have been duped into following Voldemort, but then intelligence probably had very little to do with it. Yet, in a photograph of her aged around 16, she looked as remarkably average as she did impossibly young. There was nothing in that photograph that so much as hinted as to what Bellatrix was to become. In fact, she almost blended in with her fellow classmates aside from that distinctive mane of long curly hair.

Hermione had trouble finding much more. It was almost like Bellatrix completely disappeared after graduating from Hogwarts. Surely somebody as capable and well connected as Bellatrix had had numerous enviable job offers that someone who was also determined, ruthless and competitive would have jumped at, but if she had, Hermione could find no record of it. The last record she could find was Bellatrix’s wedding announcement to Rodolphus Lestrange occurring the year after she graduated school. There was a photograph of the couple taken on stone steps, presumably in front of either the Lestrange or Black home, Hermione didn’t know which, and the description merely read: Rodolphus Lestrange and Bellatrix Lestrange (nee Black) on their wedding day, May 16, 1970.

This photo was much more interesting than the previous one. In it, Bellatrix was begrudgingly taking hold of the arm Rodolphus was proudly offering her. He stood tall next to her, his hair that hung down by his chin was parted in the middle and looked tidy and clean, and Hermione supposed, in a way, he was handsome. Bellatrix’s still looked impossibly young, but also incredibly serious, despite it being her wedding day. Her dress was old fashioned, high necked, and long sleeved with a ridiculous amount of lace detailing, but still quite pretty. Her hair was half-up, half-down, the way she often seemed to wear it, and just as unruly as it was now with curls escaping and hanging in front of her face. Hermione briefly wondered if it were deliberate, a way to hide her unimpressed expression. Unlike Rodolphus, who was smiling, albeit not widely, but smiling all the same, Bellatrix was not. Her face was almost expressionless, her mouth more of a straight line than Hermione had ever seen it before, neither smiling nor grimacing, and it hit Hermione that she had seen that expression on Bellatrix’s face before, that night at Malfoy Manor when Bellatrix had first seen one of the Snatchers holding the Sword of Gryffindor to his side, only this time her eyes were not wide; instead they were heavy lidded, the first trace of a scowl about to form. She looked nothing like a woman should on her wedding day: happy, excited, contented; instead, she looked silently furious.

She had been pondering over how utterly controlling pureblood society was that a woman clearly that unhappy had agreed to go through with a wedding she obviously didn’t want, when she heard someone approaching her from behind. She slammed the book shut and turned to find a confused looking Ginny hesitate. 

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Ginny said. “I knew I’d find you here, though. It’s Saturday! Have a day off. What are you even studying anyway?” 

Ginny had craned her neck to get a look at the spine of the book in front of Hermione, but she stood and blocked her view.  
“Ginny, I got totally absorbed, I forgot about tonight! Shall we go and get ready?”

Ginny forgot about teasing her and instead began to bubble with excitement at the prospect of seeing Harry. She had even said, “I’m sure you feel the same way about seeing Ron.” Hermione didn’t even get the chance to respond when Ginny held up a hand and said, “Don’t tell me; he’s still my brother,” and pulled a face.

Similarly, Ginny now said, “Don’t tell me – I’m trying to stick to my no studying on a Saturday rule and that includes talking about it.”

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, a lie not having made itself ready on the tip of her tongue. 

There was the unmistakeable sound from the fireplace and a flash of green and then they were both there, an almost breathless looking Harry, his eyes searching for the room for Ginny’s and then everything happened all at once, everybody greeting each other, the boys doing those back slapping boy hugs and then Hermione’s eyes landed on Ron, who grinned at her in a way that was almost shy, his hands shoved into his pockets. Hermione opened her mouth to speak when Molly practically threw herself at her youngest son, sloppily kissing his cheek. 

“Mum!” Ron tried to squirm away and Hermione couldn’t help but smile.

Molly paid no mind, announcing that dinner would be ready in five minutes and that they should all make their way outside before she dashed back off to the kitchen. Everybody began making their way through to the back of the house and to the giant table outside. Wordlessly, Hermione and Ron lingered behind until just the two of them remained in the living room.

“Hello, Ronald,” Hermione said. She was unsure what to do; did they kiss, did they hug?

Ron seemed to have no such qualms and crossed the room quickly to wrap her into a hug. It wasn’t unlike their previous hugs except it was longer and Ron held her tighter.

They stood for a moment, before Hermione gestured. “We should probably – ”

“Oh, right, yeah,” Ron said, letting her lead the way. She felt his hand ghost her waist as she passed in front of him, but he made no other attempt at physical contact and she found herself grateful.

Dinner was a warm affair, as it always was at the Weasley home. Everybody was talking over each other, laughing and joking, telling stories, teasing one another and genuinely enjoying each other’s company. Hermione was sat between Ginny and Mr Weasley with Ron across from her. Every now and again their eyes caught, but it only lasted a mere second before one of them – usually Hermione – looked away and down at her plate. It was actually horrible, the awkwardly flirtatious atmosphere, because it meant Hermione couldn’t just enjoy being reunited with her two best friends. Things had irrevocably changed now, between them all. Where once Ron had merely been her friend, he was now something else. And where she and Ron had been Harry’s first port of call, now that he and Ginny were a couple, things had shifted; not necessarily in a bad way – Hermione was happy for them both – but it was undeniable that they each held the same roles in one another’s lives now. They were, she supposed, “growing up.”  
“It is so good to have you all back at my dinner table,” Molly said in the lull that happened after the food had been finished. “The house feels like a home again, even if one of you is missing,” she added, referring, of course, to Fred. George ducked his head and a heavy silence hung over the table, but it didn’t last too long, before Molly continued, brightly, “Family is such a blessing and I hope, one day, you all know what it is like to have families of your own. Who knows, maybe soon we will have a bunch of little Weasleys once again running riot around the place!”

They all laughed, of course, but Hermione didn’t miss the blush on both Harry and Ginny’s cheeks, but she was horrified to see the blush on Ron’s and equally horrified to see Molly winking at her!

“Now, Molly, don’t jump the gun, as the Muggles say,” Mr. Weasley said then he leaned toward Hermione and said, “That is how the saying goes, isn’t it?” 

“I’m just saying, Arthur, how wonderful it would be!” Molly clapped her hands together, her expression incredibly wistful, and Hermione couldn’t entirely blame her. After so tragically losing one of her children, not to mention her surviving children so rapidly leaving the nest, it was no wonder that Molly was already fantasizing about being a grandmother. It was, after all, the logical next step.

“Steady on, Mum, they’re not even engaged yet!” Ron said, pushing the attention back onto the official couple and gesturing to his sister and Harry, both of whom were still red in the face.

“Well, we have that to look forward to, at least, and who knows, Ronald, maybe it will be a double wedding,” Molly said and Hermione practically choked on her water.

“Oh, Mum,” George groaned at the same time Mr Weasley called out, “Hear, hear!”

Hermione wanted the ground to open up and swallow her.

Later, not long before she and Ginny left to return to school, Ron approached her, rubbing the back of his neck and said, “I’m sorry about Mum. She gets a bit carried away. You know what she’s like. She means well, but...yeah.” Hermione had no idea how to respond, but she needn’t have panicked as Ron continued, “But, er, about what she said – ” Hermione’s eyes must have gone wide because then Ron was saying, “No, no, not that...just, er, well...I’ve been meaning to ask you if you’d like – I mean, if we could, maybe – er – go out sometime? You and me, I mean.”

A date. An official date. That was what he meant.

“Oh,” she squeaked. Then she coughed to clear her throat and to stall because, well, what was she supposed to say? Yes. She should say yes. Because Ron was Ron. Sure he was immature in some ways, but he was good and nice and safe and he cared for her and, in a way, it would be easy, it was expected and hoped for and everyone would be happy. Except...there was still the possibility of it all going wrong and everyone would end up hurt and disappointed. Not to mention the fact that, well, shouldn’t she want to be just jumping at this chance? Younger Hermione would have. Or at least she thought so. The fact that she wasn’t...

“Hermione!” Ginny had jumped up, grabbing hold of her arm. “We have to go! It’s almost curfew!”

And then, just like in any big family, there was basically a scuffle – of people, saying goodbye, hugging – and it happened quickly and before Hermione could say a word, Ron was telling her that he would owl her and Molly was kissing her cheek again, while Ginny tugged on her arm and where one minute Hermione had been in the middle of a Weasley Whirlwind she now found herself back in the dormitory at Hogwarts.

Ginny flopped onto her bed. “I am so stuffed!” she said, clutching her stomach.

Hermione smiled at her friend before flopping down on the bed next to her, exhausted. “I’m not surprised,” she said, poking Ginny in the side. “How many servings of pudding did you have again?”

Ginny merely grinned at her. 

“For such a small person, you rival your brothers in gluttony, you know.”

“Gluttony!” Ginny exclaimed. She patted her stomach. “Oh dear. I think you might be right. Speaking of brothers!” Ginny rolled over and propped herself up. “You and Ron looked pretty cosy.” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively, and Hermione felt her own stomach drop.

“He asked me to dinner.”

Ginny wrinkled her nose. “At the Burrow again?”

“No. At least, I don’t think so. I think he meant more like...a date type thing.”

“Finally! What did you say? You said yes, right?”

Tactically, Hermione answered, “Well, someone started panicking about curfew.”

Ginny rolled her eyes and laid back down on her bed. “Ron moves slower than a snail.”

And Hermione was grateful for that. But she merely nodded at her friend.

“Anyway,” Hermione said quickly. “Bed time. I’m actually knackered.”

“Hm, me too,” came Ginny’s mumbled reply. Within seconds, Hermione realized her friend had fallen asleep. She transfigured Ginny’s clothes into her pyjamas and pulled a blanket over her before slipping into her own pyjamas and into her own bed.

She laid there in the darkness for a while before reaching underneath her bed and pulling out the book she had checked out earlier from the library. She quickly found the page she was looking for and traced her fingers along the edge of the book as she stared at the picture that was now burned into her brain; Bellatrix, barely nineteen, in that high necked pretty white dress. She hadn’t understood Bellatrix’s expression of silent fury the first time she had seen it on what was traditionally supposed to be the happiest day of her life, but, now, she kind of understood. She was merely a girl, pushed into a box that was far too small for her. Was Voldemort the way out? Had that been her only choice? Or just the easiest choice at the time?

Hermione was too tired to think about it. She closed the book and shoved it back under her bed. The last thing she needed was to fall asleep holding it only for Ginny to wake up before her and almost catch her again.

And just like that, Hermione closed her eyes and dreamt of boxes that were too small, itchy white wedding dresses and the delicious feeling of curls caressing her cheek before a sharp pain in her arm bloomed and burned and everything turned black.


End file.
